


A Funeral Chuckle

by asgardianthot



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Closeted Character, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardianthot/pseuds/asgardianthot
Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam Wilson returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We keep tagging ‘Sam Wilson is a good bro’ but do we ever stop and wonder if Sam Wilson NEEDS a good bro? Wonder no more.

Sam awaited for good news. Anything. There is something very cliché about sitting on your childhood bed, which every film director ever has had their take on; it is a place to reflect on your life, to question every decision you have made since you moved out, to long for lost memories of a simpler time, to feel small. That was certainly the case. Sam felt small. He used to believe the house wasn't big enough for both his and his father's ego, which was why the latter always occupied the bigger presence, but today, with his father gone, Sam stepped in as old and as successful as that room had ever seen him and still he felt smaller than ever.

Sitting on the bed, he fixed the hems of his jacket while waiting for good news. The tiniest information would do the trick. Even going online and finding out a dog had been rescued and adopted would be enough. Yet when he unlocked his phone, all that he found was grief and lament.

Messages including the phrases "my condolences", "your father was a great man", and "I am sorry for your loss" plagued his direct messages on every social media app. He couldn't get himself to reply to all of them. Most were just formalities, not truly heartfelt, so why should he dignify each and every single one of them with a response? Still, Sam Wilson was too polite not to, at least, stress about it.

Suddenly, a knock on his door made him stand up, and made the echo of distant voices hearable again.

"It's Steve." The man said from the other end of the door, "Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door instead, and welcomed his childhood friend with a tired expression.

"Hey." He made an effort to withstand a grateful grin.

"Hey, bud." The blonde dragged the words for as long as he hugged Sam, "How you holding up?"

"Good." He nodded, "Good."

Of course, they both knew there was an 'all things considered' hidden at the end of that. Steve gave him one last pat on the shoulder before they both stepped inside.

"Listen, take your time." Steve tried to appease him, "I just came to let you know everything’s ready. I think the entire _town’s_ here already.”

Sam nodded again. Steve had showed up like an angel from heaven the second Paul Wilson died. He was Sam's closest friend and the only friend he kept from his hometown. Even though Steve had built a life just a few blocks away from the Wilson's, while Sam moved to Washington DC as soon as he graduated high school, they met as much as their distant living situations allowed them, and remained in touch on, at least, a monthly basis. He was like a son to Sam’s mother, and so naturally, he stepped into the grieving period and saved the day.

"Where's mom?" Sam asked.

"Downstairs. Bossing the caterers." Rogers replied as if they both were expecting that sort of behavior.

Disappointed but not surprised was a perfect way of describing Sam. He exhaled a tired scoff, thinking ‘that sounds like her’, for Darlene Wilson could be more than bossy; especially when it came to the art of culinary. But most importantly, she wanted to take care of things, even when she needed to. She would have cooked everything herself if Steve had allowed it. The latter had done ninety-nine percent of the work while Sam traveled from DC to his hometown, which meant handling the entire funeral, including the service, the catering, and all the energy-draining tasks.

"Thank you. For taking care of everything.” Sam said with honesty, and sounding as if he feared he could never repay his best friend, “I don't think I've thanked you properly."

However, the blonde shook his head, humbly.

"Don't worry about it, pal. That's why you got me.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “All you gotta do is grieve and say hi to everyone. Leave the rest to me."

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath, "I'm ready. Let's go."

As soon as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they noticed the amount of guests, all there to lament the death and celebrate the life of Minister Wilson. By how populated the house was, and how small the actual population of the town, one would think Steve was right when joking about the _entire_ town attending. Hopefully, it didn’t take long to find the woman among the sea of tuxes and black dresses.

"Hi, mama." Sam approached her with a warm hug.

Darlene reciprocated tightly, then stepped back to hold her son’s face on her hands.

"Oh, my sweet boy.” She frowned with pity. “How'd you sleep?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t allow Sam to answer the question, for she was instantly distracted by a waiter carrying a tray of appetizers. Her loving expression quickly turned into one of extreme disapproval, probably judging every choice made by the people Steve had hired.

“No, that can't be right." The woman began.

"Mom." Sam glared, trying to stop her from going frantic.

"It's fine." Rogers backed Sam, using a tone that would hopefully tranquilize Mrs. Wilson.

Yet her eyes followed the waiter with concern, "No, they-"

"How 'bout we let them do their job?” Sam insisted, less lovingly now and more annoyed, “You know, _cater?_ It's what we paid them to do."

"People are gonna think my food is that bad!" she protested.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're a widow, no one cares about your food."

Steve stepped in as quickly as possible, in an attempt to cover-up his friend’s rudeness. If it hadn’t been for him, Darlene would have probably showed herself offended.

"He meant everyone knows your cooking is amazing.” He tilted his head to the side with a kind smile, “No one judges you for not doing the work yourself."

Eventually, the woman had to agree and stop worrying. She was merely freaking out as her way of grieving in such circumstances, after all, considering how many people expected things from the Minister’s widow. Allowing herself to leave the work to her boys, she placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

"Family's waiting to see you, Samuel." She said before moving to another group of people who wished to talk to her, although her expression remained rather distressed.

Sam did as told, in order to not upset his mother any further. He barely ever went back home. Usually, his parents flew to DC whenever they wanted to meet up, and so, the man would avoid every single person he grew up with –except for Steve and his close family– for a large amount of years, successfully.

He forced himself to receive a few family members’ condolences, plus engaging in small talk about his job, his life in the city and his lack of wife or girlfriend. When the townspeople began approaching him with their devoted speeches about Paul’s work at the local church and their religious beliefs on the dead man’s soul, Samuel had to escape.

He found his friend rather desperately, and placed a hand on his back to get his attention.

"What can I do?" he asked Steve when the latter turned to him.

"I have everything covered, don't worry." The blonde thought he had to calm Sam down.

Yet Sam knew for a fact that Steve had placed at least one person to do each task, almost professionally so. He had made sure to pay for the flowers’ people, gotten one of his friends to supervise them, sent his mom Sarah to check up on Darlene Wilson every ten minutes, etcetera. The service at the Wilson’s house was going according to plan like clockwork, and Sam was very much sure of it.

He just wanted to be busy. He wanted to escape the pitiful looks and the condescending words and the shoulder pats. He needed to get away, have something to focus on.

"No, I know, but what can I do?" he insisted.

Fortunately, Steve got the message. He nodded and thought for a second.

"Maybe help out in the kitchen?"

“Thanks.” Sam mumbled before heading for the kitchen.

Once in there, he saw the place practically deserted. A waiter walked out as soon as Sam stepped a foot inside, carrying a big tray of poured drinks, and left the room for one other person; he had his back to Sam, focused on the running water as he did the dishes, and wore tux pants along with a white dress shirt.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered to the man who was clearly a guest and not a part of the catering service, assuming by his clothing.

When the appellee turned around, it seemed like his chest heaved a painful breath that he didn’t allow himself to take. Sam, on his part, felt like all blood left his head. His heart skipped a beat as he processed the fact that the man in front of him was no other than his childhood crush, James Buchanan Barnes. No matter how obvious it had seemed to Samuel that he would be seeing old classmates and neighbors, he had absolutely blocked the existence of _Bucky_.

Perhaps because it reminded him too much of a time when he concealed his true identity from everyone; being a boy who’s attracted to boys in a small, conservative and mostly religious town was already hard, but being the minister’s son on top of that had always forced Sam to remain in the closet. That meant keeping all of his feelings for Bucky locked inside, especially around the crush himself. Unfortunately, both being Steve Rogers’ best friend never made it easy.

"Hey.” Bucky smiled minimally as he placed a dripping dish on the drying station, “Steve put me on dishes duty."

Sam nodded and approached him, still preferring to offer his help and stay in the kitchen _with him_ than going back outside to the sea of chaos. So he grabbed a cloth from the top counter and began drying the wet dishes with it in order to make space for more plates and cups.

"James." He greeted the brunette, choosing to ignore the nickname Bucky, for it probably was just something left behind in his childhood, “Haven't seen you since High School."

"Yeah, I guess.” Bucky smiled, still focusing on his task, “So how've you been? I mean... I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

The immediate regret and embarrassment coming from Bucky after messing up his condolences _and_ their reunion so royally made Sam smile.

"Thank you." He said in a tone that eased Bucky’s guilt and told him not to worry about it.

Still, he let out an awkward laugh, "I never know what to say in these things." He admitted.

The last sentence made a lot of sense to Samuel, not only because he himself didn’t know what to say about his father’s death –not even what to tell his own self–, but because he remembered that James’ father had died when he was only four years old. In fact, when Sam first met Bucky, the latter acted like he had never even had a dad. So it was only expected that Bucky felt weird about that kind of loss.

"I feel you.” Sam sighed, “All these people that haven't talked to me in years are... offering their help, their phone numbers, a shoulder to cry on. I don't know them, why would they ask me to stay in their house?"

Bucky cracked a chuckle, which was too joyful for the occasion, even coming from him.

“Small town brand.” He mocked the alleged grieving neighbors, “Everyone wants to cook you their best casserole."

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement before engaging in a proper conversation, "You still live here?"

Although he felt the question sounded mean, like he was judging Bucky, he couldn’t really take it back or it would sound condescending _(“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s fine if you still live in this shitty town.”)_ and that would be even worse.

"Yep. Well, I was in New York, but I came back last year. Moved into an apartment downtown... temporary roommate situation, and now I can't seem to move out.” James replied easily, as if he had prepared his ‘seeing your old crush after a decade’ speech with anticipation, “Where you at, these days?"

"DC. I work at Veteran's Affairs."

Barnes was about to ask more about that, having heard of Sam’s double tours in Afghanistan and desperately wanting to hear about his heroic job there, but was interrupted by Steve’s loud presence.

"I called it.” The blonde said as he approached his two best friends, “This place is turning into a high school reunion."

Both turned to face him, and suddenly their gut instinct of when they had to pretend not to be attracted to each other came back. They both checked to see if they were standing too close, or gazing into each other’s eyes, and put on an uninterested face for Rogers. Apparently, the body doesn’t forget.

"Who else came?" Sam asked out of impulse, for he didn’t truly care.

"Half of our senior class." Steve replied with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.

Bucky frowned, "What do they think this is, a casual gathering?"

Steve shook his head, the disgust towards insensitive townsfolk hitting too close to home, for the Wilsons had always been his family, and he despised whoever took the opportunity of Paul’s death to make an appearance. Samuel, however, wasn’t surprised, and had prepared himself for something like that; that didn’t mean he didn’t deeply appreciate Bucky standing up for the Wilson family. In fact, it brought a familiar flutter to Sam’s stomach.

"Anyway, Wanda's looking for you, Bucky." Steve informed the man.

As he heard the nickname, Sam felt bad for having called him _James_. It probably came off as distant, when he just wanted to be respectful and mature.

The man in question turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his black tux pants, before giving Sam a smile on his way out. The name Wanda echoed inside Sam’s brain; he wondered if she was his girlfriend, or maybe even his wife. As far as he could remember, Bucky never showed any romantic nor sexual interest towards women at all, but he also took in consideration that too many years had passed. He couldn’t pretend to actually know the man just because of what they shared during their teenage years. He could be an entirely different person for that matter.

As Bucky made his way to the front door, he saw Wanda standing outside through the side window. He opened up, making her smile exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry, I locked myself out again." She cringed, hoping not to upset Bucky.

"You really need to stop losing your keys.” He said without much amusement.

"I know, I’m the worst roommate ever, I’m lucky you’re too lazy to move out.” The young woman recited the words she knew by heart, since Bucky enjoyed repeating them over and over again, “The keys?”

He sighed, reached for his back pocket, and handed the item to her, reluctantly.

“What time are you coming home?” Wanda asked while she safe-kept them inside her purse.

Bucky turned back to glance at the sea of guests.

“I don’t know, just leave them under the doormat.” He faced her again.

Wanda felt a little sad for his roommate, because he was helping out at some funeral, and that couldn’t be the most fun activity, but it also meant he probably wasn’t a stranger there. so, she switched to a kinder tone.

“Well, I’m ordering Chinese for two, you can reheat it whenever you get back. “ She offered with a small grin, earning a grateful nod from the man, “Can I ask who died?”

"Sam's dad.” He replied, only to raise the question ‘who’s Sam’ in Wanda’s face, “Just a high school classmate. Steve's best friend."

"I thought you were Steve's best friend.” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly opened them wide when she came to an impactful realization, “Oh my God, is it _Sam_ , the guy you made out with?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a billion years ago, just drop it."

"Okay.” She obliged with an amused frown, “Just don’t hit on a grieving man.”

“Bye, Wanda.” He shut the door on her face.

-

At the church, the attending townsfolk filled up every space inside. A large amount of black dresses and tuxes could be seen at the back of the venue, standing because they ran out of seats. As the priest recited his planned words on the wonderful man Paul Wilson had been, people nodded in agreement, with respect and enthusiasm. Some held worn tissues to their faces, drying practically unnoticeable tears in an attempt to never be seen _not_ crying. Darlene Wilson allowed herself to tear up every other minute, but mostly remained calm and satisfied with the service.

But the pain in Sam’s chest was unbearable. He knew his mother wanted him to weep. She wanted him to be a good, sensitive man like his father taught him. But Sam always felt like he had to toughen up in front of Paul, as a way of overcompensating for his romantic attraction. It was a maneuver that made absolutely no sense, but it was wired onto his brain, therefore, he was having a hard time opening up his heart.

“Paul was, first and foremost, a father.” The priest continued with his praising words, “He was a loving parent to Samuel, and he was a father to us all.”

That was when Sam’s bottled up feelings came to a halt. His breathing became more hectic and his chest burned hotter.

“He loved each and every single one of us, and cared for our problems more than he cared for himself. Whether it be religious guidance, life advice or a supportive shoulder to cry on, we could always count on Paul. He didn’t judge, he didn’t punish, but instead he was a _listener_.”

Perhaps it was plain paranoia, but Samuel swore he could feel all hundreds of eyes burning a hole on the back of his head. He had ceased to even stare at the priest, and resigned to look at a random spot on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers and working on his breathing.

“He always made sure we knew he loved us unconditionally, and I believe he left us a very important legacy. Paul might be gone, but we must honor his life and what he stood for: we must do the best we can, each day, to be more caring. More supportive, more empathic, and maybe the hardest thing to do, we must be honest with out loved ones. That is what Paul Wilson believed in… compassion and honesty can heal a heart. And a healed heart can heal the world.”

Sam couldn’t hold himself in place. His body was running at four hundred percent. He stood up from his seat at the front and walked out, trying not to do a scene. He opened up the gates minimally, escaped through the creak and as soon as he shut them back, leaving the funeral behind, he allowed himself to freak out.

He had become overwhelmed, more than he prepared for, and didn’t feel like he could go back inside. He didn’t want to be at his father’s funeral, he realized. He wasn’t ready to accept his grief. As he paced around in circles, he took big breaths and slowly came down from his hectic state.

“Are you okay?” he heard.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that Bucky had walked outside as well. He took a deep breath and sat at the bottom of the stairs. He let his head rest on his palms and nodded into them to not worry Bucky.

“You don’t look okay.” Bucky said with a hint of pity, before sitting down next to the dead man’s son, “ _But_ … that’s how you’re supposed to look, I guess. Not okay.”

Sam raised his gaze and directed it to Bucky’s dressing shoes.

“I’m supposed to look like I’m mourning, then why does it feel like I’m not?”

After a long second of silence, Bucky shrugged, “Maybe you’re not ready to mourn yet.”

The statement settled extremely well on Sam’s head. It made sense. He didn’t want to let go just yet. He took another profound and painful breath before relaxing his muscles.

“I just want to get the hell away from this shit-show.” Sam spoke with very aggressive words, but his voice was soft and small.

“Don’t you have to get back?” Bucky asked, anticipating the sadness he would feel for Sam as soon as he walked back inside.

Wilson shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“No one expects me to be there, that’s just something my mama tells me to make me feel special.”

Bucky felt a sparkle of hope and joy at the sound of that, for even the smallest hint of a joke, or self-deprecating humor, meant so much when it peaked through pain.

He couldn’t help but smile big, “In that case, _mama’s boy_ , you wanna get away from this?”

For the first time during that entire interaction, Samuel locked eyes with the brunette. He wanted to scream ‘yes’ immediately, but he felt like, as the deceased person’s son, he shouldn’t show himself too excited to run away.

“I guess I could eat.” He nodded with a half-smile.

“I know just the right place.” Bucky gloated as he stood up and offered Sam a hand, “Hope you like hot coco.”


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the waiter deposited their orders and walked away, Sam took a sip from his large mug. He first tasted the hot chocolate and looked at James, who monitored his every move, like he awaited for confirmation. Then, he took a big sip, nodded in approval and wiped his lip while Bucky smiled, pleased with himself. A big ‘ _told you so’_ could be read across the latter’s features.

“You were right.” Sam nodded while pacing the mug down, “This was a good idea. Just what I needed.”

Bucky reached for the muffin Sam had ordered for himself and took a piece. It certainly was noticed by Wilson, who spent the following minute or so analyzing this man’s actions and gestures. He was comfortable enough to pick from Sam’s order without even asking –he was blunt in a way that seemed like he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing– and still, he shifted in his seat because of how anxious silence made him. Almost like he believed to be causing the silence by doing something wrong.

“Can I try to guess?” the brunette eventually set the tone for the topic of conversation.

He _had_ just saved Sam from a potential nervous collapse at his father’s wake, after all. That, plus the fact that the last time they’d seen each other they were romantic teenagers sharing escapade kisses, did not leave room for a light nor casual chat about the weather.

“ _Guess_ what?” Sam raised his eyebrows as he approached the mug to his lips.

“Was it a weird relationship?” he broke the ice abruptly, “With your dad. Is that why you’re being weird about it?”

“Is it so obvious?” Sam smirked at the ‘weird’ part; he took a large bite of his muffin before sliding the plate closer to Bucky, so that he could have a piece, “It’s complicated, yeah. Wish I could just _cry_ and say he had a great life, like my mom does…”

“But?”

Sam sighed, “But I never opened up to him. Not the way I should have.” He glanced stared down at his beverage and shook his head, “It just feels… I don’t know.”

Seeing how Sam’s face shut down of all light, as well as his body shrugged at the end of his almost sentence, Barnes decided to help him out.

“Does it feel like you weren’t ready to say goodbye?” he awaited until Sam nodded before continuing, “What do you wish you’d told him?”

Wilson inhaled a deep, loud breath and allowed a defeated smile to rearrange his expression.

“That’s rough.” He practically chuckled, “Well, I should have come out to him. I kept that from him all his life as a father. How- how selfish is that?”

Sour sadness filled Bucky’s gut, but he understood the man sitting in front of him, more than he could ever know. James’ father died before Bucky even knew what sexual orientation was. He had to come out to his mother all on his own, hoping she, the woman who constantly reminded him he was everything she had, wouldn’t drift apart. So, he reached for Sam’s hand and placed his on top, supportively.

“It’s not.” He said softly, but not condescendingly, “It ain’t easy. I think you… let him love you. That’s gotta be enough, right?”

Letting the comforting words sink in, Wilson gifted Bucky a small, yet warm smile.

“When did you become the expert in grieving?” he mocked.

Bucky laughed and retracted his hand from Sam’s, which left the latter a tingling sensation of withdrawal. He took a sip from the chocolate before replying.

“I’ve been to more funerals that I can count.” He explained with partial amusement, “Sometimes I think I’m bad luck or something, you know? People around me just… die.”

Sam frowned at the sound of such theory. Both of them engaged in a deep stare off in expectance of the other to comment on it, until Sam broke character and burst out laughing, which resulted in Bucky chuckling as well. When the laughing ceased, and the interaction drowned for a bit, Bucky returned to a former topic.

“You know, if you ever want- or _feel_ like you have to…” He shrugged at his own words with uncertainty, “I came out… here. Last year, and they weren’t too bad about it. I mean, I was the town’s gossip, obviously, but I think they were _excited_ to have an openly gay man among them.”

The image coerced a big laugh into Sam’s lips. _They really are too suburban._

"That's great.” Sam replied genuinely, “But I don't think I'm gonna stay here. I can't stand the church people, especially after that shit show."

Bucky understood the discomfort. People who grew up and raised children in the same old bubble and only ever had a life in their small town could come across as tedious. Clichés, even. But the brunette had gotten used to them over the past year. He saw them more as a quaint image than a dreadful stereotype. Unfortunately, that was nowhere near the impression Samuel had gotten at church that day, and he made sure to express that.

"So many people cannot share the same grief, it's impossible.” He shook his head, reflecting on the masses of hypocritically religious women weeping over their favorite minister, “Funerals make no sense."

Bucky raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement, and still, he found something nice to say.

"Yeah, but, you know? I don't mind them. There's something... nice about them."

"Which part? The death of a loved one?" Wilson joked as he played with some crumbs that had fallen on the table.

The dark humor really got to Bucky, so he was unable to conceal a chuckle. He shook his head and held the mug tighter before engaging in a rambling speech about his picturesque view of funerals.

"I don't know, I was way too young when my dad died. I didn't really... understand anything that was going on, so I never thought of grief as such a dark thing, you know?” He tilted his head to the side, thinking hard on his thesis, “You just get dressed and meet a bunch of people and you're all super quiet."

Samuel felt like he wasn’t sharing the same point of view, but he got that part. It _was_ actually just a formal gathering that everyone simply grew used to. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

"Yeah, it's a borderline funny picture."

Bucky nodded again, smiling.

"And you're right, nobody griefs the same way. But that's even more interesting. You got people feeling horrible pain, some folk are pretty empty inside, some are there to play-pretend, you know, faking it makes them feel important. And still, in the end, no matter how much your senior class tries to turn this into a shit-show, it’s pretty intense. In a very… unique way.”

Although Barnes was waiting for Sam to make fun of his words, but when he looked into his eyes he found the man to be very attentive. There was no mocking grin, no hint of disapproval, but an utter wish to comprehend.

“How?” he asked, eager to continue listening to a man that sounded, at the moment, more fascinating than what he remembered.

Taken off guard, Bucky cleared his throat and sat straighter, then glanced at Sam a little embarrassed, "Well, it's still a place of really intense feelings.” He explained while losing the awkwardness, “And I don't just mean the sadness, or the anger... I don’t know. Ever heard a funeral chuckle?"

That time, Sam had to frown, " _A what?"_

“You know! When… someone's hurting so bad that they're kinda surrounded by this _dark cloud_. They're crying, you can tell they have the heaviest heart in the entire service, and all of a sudden they burst out laughing."

Sam’s interest in whatever went down in Bucky’s mind was becoming bigger by the second, "Why do they?" he questioned truthfully.

"Doesn't matter.” Barnes brushed it off with a glint of joy in his eyes, fueled by the memories of the many times he had seen one of those. “Someone says something funny. Or, the priest starts singing.” He laughed out loud at the thought he himself had conveyed. “And it's just the most amazing laugh, it's such an intense feeling."

Wilson was captivated. Bucky had such a peculiar way of seeing the world. Of experiencing it. For a man who worked with grieving veterans, Sam had never heard such a beautiful way of describing funerals. Neither had he heard of a man who collected the so-called ‘funeral chuckles’. _That_ was captivating by itself.

"Sounds lovely." Sam brought himself to reply after a moment of silent appreciation, only because the quiet seemed to make Bucky nervous.

"It is.” Bucky suddenly looked at Sam rather mischievously, “I, uh… I was hoping it would be yours in this one."

The sentence brought a warm blush to Sam’s face. Bucky had a way of making him feel like he was in on a secret, like they had a natural complicity, or some underground operation. Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense: they did have a complicity born out of secrecy. They used to run away at night to kiss inside of closets –the irony being painfully obvious there, and somehow none of them ever made a joke about it–, they used to leave notes on each other’s backpacks and pray that the appellee would find it, only for it to read ‘meet me at the parking lot, 10pm’. So, after all, yes, the pair were the only ones to know a very private secret. It was only natural to act like it.

Snapping back into the conversation, Sam lamented not being able to cry at his father’s funeral, and therefore, not being able to provide a tearful chuckle for Bucky’s collection. That ship had sailed the second they walked away from the local church.

"I'll settle for some funeral coco." Sam raised his mug with pride.

Bucky reciprocated with joy and satisfaction for having helped Sam when he needed to get away. They spent a long time sitting there with empty mugs, battling over the last crumbs of blueberry muffin, and catching up. Bucky told Sam about the many, many jobs he’d had in the past, and how he had come back home after quitting his last gig on moral basis. Sam opened up about his tours in Afghanistan and his work as a vet counselor. Eventually, the sun shone less bright outside, and the ticking clock inside Sam’s gut told him they should go find his mom.

-

Back at the Wilson’s house, a small group of people had continued followed to continue their grievance. It momentarily made Sam want to leap off the second-story window, but he managed to conceal his annoyance. Basically because his mom didn’t seem to mind; some of them were close friends and others church friends, and Darlene didn’t look for a second like she wanted some peace in her home. On the contrary, she began serving beverages to the guests, immediately.

Steve and his mother Sarah were there as well, the latter chatting with some neighbors while Steve stood by the staircase and made himself look rather secretive with Bucky. Both men could tell that Sam was overwhelmed. He had been, back at the church, and he definitely was now.

“Maybe we should leave.” Steve pondered.

“I don’t know.” Bucky replied with a sigh, then leaned against the staircase wall, “None of _these_ people are gonna leave. He kinda needs us here.”

Steve examined his friend’s face for a good amount of seconds. He narrowed his eyes, and that’s when Bucky noticed the excess of contemplation.

“What?”

“Where’d you go during the service?” the blonde asked without ado.

Bucky knew this was the beginning of an interrogation, and he knew what his friend’s suspicions were.

“Took Wilson away from there, why?”

“Where?”

“Just a coffee place. _Why?_ ”

Steve’s lips curled up in an almost unnoticeable smirk, yet it didn’t go unnoticed by Barnes.

“What’s your deal?” the latter began growing hyper-defensive on his behalf.

-

“Can you get the nice dishes, Sammy?” Darlene asked his son as she opened up cabinets on her tidy kitchen, rummaging for supplies.

Samuel merely stood there, trying not to let out everything he opined in a rude way. However, it _did_ make him upset that his mother was working when she should have been resting. She was the widow, she shouldn’t have to do anything at all. He, himself would have done the work for her, but the point wasn’t about who prepared food and drinks, instead it had to do with the fact Darlene _wanted_ to do it. She allowed those people in her house. A simple ‘I’m tired’ would have been enough to get rid of them by her doorstep.

“Why don’t we just send them all home?” Sam offered.

“They’re here to accompany us in a time of grief. The least we can do is serve them.” The woman explained, still focusing on the cabinets, “Especially since you left your father’s service.”

 _There it was._ He knew she wouldn’t let it go just like that. In fact, Sam was waiting for her to bring it up.

“Okay, so you’re mad at me.” He took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest, “Just tell me.”

“I’m not mad. I need you to get the nice dishes.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t give up on her maybe changing her mind, “Mama, let’s just go to bed.”

Unfortunately, this time, he didn’t even get a response. Darlene opened the fridge and took out some vegetables, which she seemed more than happy to wash and cut. Meanwhile, Sam got the dishes she asked for and returned with them, peacefully. The widow already had a pile of chopped carrots when her son placed the items on the table. Therefore, understanding that she, just as Sam had experienced that morning, needed to keep herself busy, Samuel dropped the subject of work or not work. Instead, he went back to the church incident.

“I’m sorry I bailed at church.” He said with honesty, then sighed before launching his explanation, for he knew his mama wouldn’t enjoy it, “But I came here for a funeral, not a _circus_.”

As expected, the woman turned around dramatically and raised her voice, “Nobody dragged you down here, Samuel. If you didn’t want to mourn your father, you shouldn’t have come at all. But you’re in my house, and we _will_ honor Paul here. Is that clear?”

Sam kept his mouth shut. He _didn’t_ want to mourn his father. He didn’t want to come to that god-awful town and he definitely didn’t want to spend time with the grieving circus. But he had done it for her, because he wouldn’t ever leave his mother alone when she needed him. Regrettably, she needed a version of her Sammy that he couldn’t offer at the moment.

“The door’s right there if you’re planning on being disrespectful.” She insisted after a long moment of tense silence.

And so, Sam went for the door. As he headed out, he almost bumped into Bucky.

“Back off, Rogers, will ya?” he brushed his friend’s allegations and walked away.

Sam was faster, though, and Barnes had to stop in his tracks and watch him walk away. He shot a confused glance in Steve’s directions, who raised his eyebrows with just as much uncertainty. Since none of them was moving to do anything, Bucky decided to follow after Sam. He found the man sitting on the grass, outside.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked as he approached him slowly.

Sam looked down at his expanded legs, “Absolutely not.” He chuckled, sarcastically, “But thanks for asking.”

“You want me to leave you alone?”

“No, please.” Sam almost begged, and so, Bucky sat down right next to him, “I think you’re the only one here who actually gets me.”

Bucky snorted in a failed attempt to conceal laughter, which caused Sam to face him with a big, questioning frown.

“I’ve always _got_ you, Sam.” Barnes explained with an amused smile, “I’m just trying to make myself useful. You look like you could use a friend.”

No matter how badly Wilson wanted to go over the topic of Bucky getting him, he felt himself needing another answer more urgently.

“Is that what you are?”

Bucky’s head lulled to the side while he thought it through, “Well, it’s shorter than ‘childhood crush turned secret kissing buddy turned stranger’.”

Sam burst out laughing, feeling himself, once again, easy and relaxed around Barnes. He tried to remember if that was the case when they were teenagers, and ended up concluding that it was probably the opposite.

“Why did we ever stop talking?” Sam sent the question out into the night sky.

“I think it was easier.” Barnes replied truthfully. “We were pretty confused, back then. And you moved away pretty quickly, so…”

As the sentence trailed off, Sam found himself looking at Bucky longer than he had intended to. It didn’t take another minute of comfortable silence for him to reach for Bucky’s cheek. Once he was cupping the man’s face, he leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips. The familiar knot in his stomach was present, like they were confused kids again, only this time, they were much more confident of themselves and of the other’s attraction. He felt that pull, that invisible energy that Bucky radiated and made Sam drawn to him.

He felt the butterflies again.

As soon as they broke apart, though, Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“You know, in the movies…” Barnes began, causing Sam to roll his eyes. “…when the character’s going through something… emotionally, so they’re like-“

“Like they _need to feel something_ so they kiss whoever out of impulse?” Sam finished the sentence for him, raising an eyebrow with disbelief; when Bucky shrugged, Sam lowered his head in order to come across more serious regarding his intent, “ _Not_ what’s happening.”

“You sure?”

A dumb grin took over Sam’s features, “You’re not a distraction. You’re actually the only person keeping me sane right now. And I just remembered… we used to do that before. Just be there for each other.”

They never said anything like it explicitly, and both of them always pretended they were just messing around, but more than once had they found each other sharing advice, or support, or the occasional _bro hug_. The second the memory hit Bucky’s brain, he held Sam’s cheekbones and launched himself for a kiss. This one was deeper, more decided, and definitely more longing. Barnes broke apart to catch his breath and pressed his forehead against Sam’s.

"God, I liked you so much when we were kids, you have no idea." He laughed.

"I think I did.” Sam said suddenly, earning a deep stare from the man who’d kissed him, “Cause I was mad about you. You were the most interesting person I'd ever met, and all these years later, you still are.” He reached for Bucky’s chin and grabbed it gently, “Buck, you're... amazing, you have such a huge heart. I hope you know that."

Bucky’s smile was smaller now. It was less honest, because he _wanted_ to believe Sam. It was appreciative, but not necessarily in agreement. However, hearing Sam say it was definitely more convincing than anything else. If Sam Wilson believed in Bucky’s heart like that, then perhaps he _was_ good. He gave Wilson a kind kiss that was charged with gratitude.

"Hot coco?" he offered.

-

After sharing one –smuggled– cup of hot coco outside, talking for hours, sharing the occasional kiss and eventually, holding hands under the night sky, the guests began abandoning the Wilson residence. And so, their wired instinct of inducing distance between them in front of other people kicked in. eventually, they walked back inside to an empty house.

Darlene was in the kitchen, doing dishes and putting things back in their place with Steve and his mom, a scene which Sam and Bucky joined. As a matter of fact, Bucky made himself extra useful that night, helping Darlene with absolutely everything before she even asked. It made Sam’s stomach churn in a good way to think that he was probably behaving like that to _win over his mom._

-

“Can I come in?” Sam heard the feminine voice accompanied by a knock on his door.

He looked up to find his mother leaning over the doorframe, and he nodded. He sat on his childhood bed, waiting for a lecture but instead was met by Darlene taking a seat right next to him. She wanted to make peace. So, he placed his hand on top of hers, which earned him a kind smile.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna mourn, baby.” She said.

It suddenly sounded like she had talked to Bucky or something. Perhaps she had.

Instead of going on that topic, he took a big breath and decided that he had spent enough time keeping the main information from her. It was not only necessary to understand Sam’s feelings regarding Paul’s death, but also because if not now, he would never gather the courage to do so. It felt like he had nothing to lose now.

"Mama, there's a reason why you've never met any of my girlfriends." He began.

Darlene tilted her head and smiled, "Because there haven't been any."

"And there's a reason for that as well."

"Darling, I know."

Sam’s eyes shot wide open.

" _You do?"_

"Oh, Sammy, I've always known.” She said almost amused as she held her son’s hand tightly, “I didn't ask because I didn't want to push you. You've always been secretive."

Processing the harsh information, Samuel nodded to himself.

"I never wanted to be. I just... I was never able to be honest, because I felt like I could never tell dad. So I kind of... hid."

A contemplative and partially sad grin took Darlene’s big motherly smile’s place. She tapped Sam’s hand with her palm.

"I don't know if your father even thought about it.” She admitted, “But, you have to know that he never would have judged you. He loved you, Sammy."

Sam wanted to believe that. He wanted to imagine a world where he had been open with his dad, and was met with acceptance and support. He wanted to believe his dad wouldn’t even have treated him differently. Unfortunately, the chance was long lost.

"I guess we'll never know.” He mumbled.

The widow received that as her cue to give him some space, so she stood up and dropped a kiss onto Sam’s forehead before walking away. Still, right before crossing the doorframe, she turned around.

"You know who I really like?” she changed her attitude suddenly, to a much more joyful one, “That Barnes boy."

Sam had to laugh, because it sounded like she was referring to the neighbor’s kid. Who, in retrospective, he technically was, but she said it like they were teenage boys and she was setting him up. If she knew, she could have been in on the joke and they could have laughed together. But Sam thought it’d be better to break it all down one step at a time.

“Don’t." He warned her, still mocking.

"Okay.” She raised her hands in her defense, “Good night."

With his light now turned off, Sam rolled around in his bed for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t sleep, no matter how tired he was. Too much had happened in the past few hours. Hell, it had been one of the most intense days of the decade. Flying to his hometown, his father’s funeral, reuniting with Barnes, _kissing_ Barnes…

 _What exactly was it that happened with Barnes?_ What it meant for them conjointly, or what it meant for Sam’s future, were too unclear and uncertain. He would have to go back to DC eventually. Which reminded Sam that his mother would now visit him by herself. She was by herself. Perhaps he could do the effort and come and visit her.

But that meant meeting with Barnes every time he came back, and so his brain returned to the same point. What _could_ they become? Not the only two gay men in town, that was for sure. He couldn’t live with that label. And he definitely couldn’t live under his father’s shadow with that label… or at all. He couldn’t live without his father.

The mess of complex thoughts clouded not only Sam’s ability to fall asleep, but his judgement as well. When he checked the clock, it was 3am already. It was 3am in that god-awful town, and he didn’t want to spend another minute there. So he turned on the light on his nightstand and turned on his laptop, typed in a few airlines sites and bought a ticket for the first plane he could hop on.

-

Bucky woke up late, by the sound of Wanda dropping a few pans in the kitchen, as usual. The flashes of the day before came plummeting, and he felt fuzzy by just thinking of Sam’s kiss. So he grabbed his phone and decided to text him, ask him to meet or just talk.

Yet, Sam had been faster. He’d sent a text at six in the morning.

_I’m sorry for leaving without notice. My plane leaves in 5 so I can’t really turn back now._

_Thank you for everything. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Steve about us? Again, sorry._


	3. Chapter 3

"What is it?"

Steve didn’t drift his view from the road ahead to respond to his friend’s question. They had spent the majority of the trip so far in utter silence, ever since Steve picked Sam up from the airport, which led both of them to believe there was an elephant in the room; weirdly so, they weren’t too sure about what the elephant represented. Most of the chat had happened during the time Steve helped Sam put his luggage in the trunk, and it had consisted of an overwhelmingly _casual_ conversation.

"What?" Steve directed the reply to Sam, who sat on the co-driver’s seat, but focused on driving.

"Whatever you're thinking about.” Sam insisted, not buying Steve’s innocent attitude, “Spit it out."

The blonde shrugged, "I'm not thinking anything."

" _Bull_."

"Seriously, my mind is blank."

There was a hint of amusement slowly escaping Steve’s tone, and it only exasperated Sam even further.

"Minds are never blank." Sam followed his lead.

"I thought that was the whole point of meditating."

"You meditate?" he raised his eyebrows with skepticism.

"Nah.” Steve finally dropped the act with a smile, “Buck tried to get me to do yoga once, but it wasn't my thing."

There it was. The elephant in the room was Bucky. Steve must have figured it out, or maybe taken a guess, putting two and two together. Maybe Bucky had been the one to speak out about the whole situation, but Sam doubted it. All he knew was Steve wasn’t stupid, so he knew the pair had fought or had gotten themselves into an impasse. The silence that the mere mention of Bucky’s name brought upon the men sitting in that moving car was more than enough proof.

"At least say _something_ , I'm not spending half an hour in silence.” Sam brushed it off, letting the excess of air in his tense lungs seep through his nose, “Tell me anything. How's work?"

"We spoke last week, Sam, you know all about work.” Steve was practically begging Sam to be honest as he tapped the wheel with his thumb, impatiently; unfortunately, he knew better than push Sam when he clearly didn’t want to break character, “I'm just glad you're back in town, 's all. Your mom really needs you tomorrow."

Sam looked down and nodded, "Yeah, I know."

In the time Darlene had spent as a widow, she had contacted his son many times, which only added to Sam’s guilt for leaving her so violently soon after Paul’s death. They both knew each other well enough to understand Sam’s reasons, though, and Darlene had never been a dependent woman. That didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t need her son. She just didn’t like admitting it so he wouldn’t worry, but that ship had sailed long ago. This time around, Sam’s bag was bigger. He was staying as long as he needed to.

"And I know last time was tough- _I'm not asking_.” Steve made sure to let Sam know he wasn’t prying, after all, “But maybe it'll be better this time around."

The occasion sort of sounded like a second funeral. And somehow, it kind of was. A month had passed, and Sam had left things like they were before. Both his mother and Bucky, abandoned. He couldn’t exactly expect the overall experience to be any better.

"How much can change in a month?"

Steve gave him a flash look, checking his expression, "Let's hope something has." He tried to transmit his friend some optimism.

Sam checked his phone again, taking another look at the picture his mom had sent him. It was of a panel outside the church, and it read ‘ _Service in memory of Minister Paul Wilson, Sunday 10am’_ along with a picture of the deceased. Below the information, a message in cursive: ‘ _One month without his wise words_.’ Sam locked his phone with a sigh.

"So..." he put the device away, gathering a bit of courage, "How's, uh... how's Barnes?"

Steve glanced at him, again, this time with a much tentative expression, for he had some hope that maybe he’d get the truth out of Sam.

"He's fine. Why?"

Sam simply looked out the window before responding, "I may or may not have been a jerk last time."

Steve nodded, hiding his joy over such a small confession.

"You guys argued or...?"

"No, nothing like that. It's- it's nothing, really."

Of course, Sam took it all back, along with Steve’s hope to be in on the gossip, and so the latter gave up on his tact. He had enough of pretending not to _know_ , and therefore, allowed his amusement ooze out of him. He shook his head as a soft chuckle made Sam frown.

"I'm sorry." He said, although he wasn’t really sorry.

"What's so funny?" Sam became defensive.

"You two are terrible liars, I don't know how you managed to stay in the closet for so long."

The last bit hit Wilson like a frying pan in the face, and all he could do was blink fast, trying to think of whatever other thing Steve could have meant by it.

"What are you talking about?" he pledged innocence to the matter.

"Come on, I know you two had something last month.” Rogers dropped the bomb with no caution whatsoever, “Was kind of expecting it, to be honest, I just can't believe you're hiding it from me _again_."

Sam was perplex. He opened his mouth, only to close it back, and when the offense surpassed the shock, he raised his voice at his best friend.

" _You knew?"_

"That you hooked up in high school?” Steve raised his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t even believe Sam never suspected it; he couldn’t possibly think he was so naïve, “Of course I knew!"

"Are you kidding me? We went the extra mile to keep you out of it for _a full_ _year_ , Rogers."

That last sentence brought back the laughter to Steve’s body, "I know, talk about a waste of time and effort." He chuckled.

" _Jesus_. We thought you'd freak out, and... I don’t know, we were kids! It seemed like something we needed to keep from you.” Sam let his head fall and caught his forehead in his hand, defeated, “Why didn't you say anything?"

Eventually, Steve quit the mocking and gave Sam some slack.

"I didn't wanna out you guys or anything.” He confessed, tilting his head, “To be honest, I totally forgot for a few years."

Sam nodded, "I think we did too."

Steve offered a grin Sam missed because he felt more comfortable looking anywhere but towards Steve. He knew Steve was being the most empathic and considerate friend anyone could ever ask for, and it only added to his already asphyxiating guilt.

"So, you two clicked again and you bolted?" Steve took his not-so-lucky guess, and got a shameful nod out of Sam, "Now he's mad and, _let me guess_ , he won't return your calls."

Rogers knew Bucky to be a master when it came to avoiding conflicts; he didn’t know Sam to be one, though. Which is why the fact that Sam had disappeared from town without notice had led him to jump into conclusions, because he had to have a strong enough reason. The death of his father, plus his high school crush falling back into his arms, the latter representing the overwhelming reminder that Sam never came out to the right people? Those were more than perfect reasons to bolt.

"Yeah. I... he's too good.” Sam began the self-loathing parade Steve didn’t expect to be hearing from _this_ friend, “He shouldn't waste his time with me."

"That's definitely not how he feels about himself.” He informed Sam, thinking how the ‘unworthy speech’ sounded more like something Bucky would say; Wilson looked at him, eager for answers, “You like him?"

" _Yeah_.” Sam let out a painful puff of air, “Yeah, but-"

"Then show him.” Steve raised his tone into a motivational one, “Go the extra mile to let him know you're sorry, and that you care about him."

Sam agreed, but remained silent. Steve was right, and he didn’t want to give the wise man all the credit. In fact, he gave Rogers an odd look.

"You're too excited for this."

"I am." Steve admitted shamefully, but planting a big smile on his face, "Feels like high school again."

For the first time, Sam interpreted that sentence in the best possible way.

-

Late at night, Bucky was boringly scrolling through social media, when he received a text from Sam. Another one. This time, however, his presence felt more imminent. He figured Sam wasn’t in DC anymore, as it was the night before the service, and when he opened the text, he confirmed it.

_I'm back in town, got here a few hours ago. Maybe we could meet up? I really wanna talk to you in person._

As he ignored the message and left the phone on the coffee table, making a rather loud sound for such a delicate device, Wanda was coming through the door with two paper bags.

"I got Chinese!" she announced.

"Course you did." Bucky sat back with a sigh.

Wanda dropped the packed food on the counter and approached Bucky with a challenging look.

"If that's an insult to my culinary taste, I'm not offended. But you should know you offend the Chinese community." She accused the man.

"Yeah, ‘cause that was cooked by a Chinese person." Barnes tilted his head, sarcasm thick on his voice.

"You don't know that!" she defended herself as she plopped down next to him on the couch.

She noticed the phone and noticed how unnatural the set-up seemed, which could only mean Bucky was avoiding something on the device; it wasn’t too difficult to guess, for he had been ghosting the same person for an entire month.

“Are we still ignoring him?” she asked, including herself in the decision.

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded, fixating his sight on a random spot, “He’s back in town.”

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, pensive, before turning to his roommate, “I have a question… Are you sure you don’t wanna give him a second chance? Or is it just your hurt pride making decisions?”

“Both.” He spat without thinking, and then decided to dignify the woman with a proper answer, “I don’t know. I just… I don’t wanna listen if all he has to say is that he doesn’t, you know…”

“In my experience, guys don’t blow up your phone when they just want to explain their lack of interest. Maybe he made a mistake, dude, maybe he wants to win you back.”

“Or maybe, he needs to tell me how much he cares before explaining why he can’t be with me.” Barnes said what he had been thinking all throughout the past weeks, “ _That’s_ Sam. I’m pretty sure he wants to make sure not to hurt my feelings and that sort of crap.”

Wanda wanted to comment on his pessimism, but she figured it was simply coming from a place of ‘I care about him too much to see him reject me’. And if that wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen in Bucky, nothing would be.

“God, it’s weird when you’re in love.” She scrunched her nose.

“I’m not in love.” Bucky rolled his eyes before standing up from the _interrogation_ couch.

“Where you ever?” she was quick to ask, which made Bucky stop in his tracks, “When you were kids?”

He reflected on it, but shook his head, “Nah, I don’t think so. We had fun, though.”

That answer alone helped Wanda paint the picture of the two boys, running around finding an isolated space where to hookup, before returning to their friends like nothing had happened. She imagined them laughing, and being nice to each other; Bucky, who wasn’t necessarily the nicest person alive.

“You were good friends.” She smiled, almost proud of her roommate for some reason.

“Yeah, we were.” He admitted, a smile of his own sneaking in through his features; suddenly, the realization that he owed Sam something because of all those years of friendship hit him like a truck, “Fuck, I hate you.” He groaned, heading to his room.

“What did I do?” Wanda jumped to her defense.

“Now I _have_ to go to the service.”

-

Inside the church, Bucky nervously fixed his tie while he watched Sam hold hands with his mother. The woman kissed her son’s cheek before she sat down in the front row, Sam turning to check if there were anything or anyone else he needed to attend to. He had been doing the social effort he despised all morning, as if he was trying to make up for being a lousy griever during the funeral. Truth was, Sam figured he could do those extra little sacrifices if it meant his mama would remain peaceful.

When his eyes found Bucky, Samuel’s body came to a halt. Bucky, having stood in that position preparing for that moment for the past minutes, managed to greet him with a simple nod, barely. As soon as Sam moved in his direction, he began regretting even showing up. But as much as he wished to be able to run away, he forced his muscles to remain still.

"Hey.” Sam offered him a mild smile of politeness when he stood in front of Bucky, “Wanna talk?"

The appellee bit the inside of his cheek, finding himself incapable of lying to Sam.

"Not really." He admitted.

The dryness of the reply was not what Sam had been expecting. Those two words took him by surprise, but he understood where they came from, so he attempted to convince him nevertheless. He showed him an awkward smile, one that yelled embarrassment.

"That's, uh... fair. That's fair.” He indulged Bucky, “I just- I've been trying to reach you for a month, Buck. Been texting, calling-"

"I know.” Barnes didn’t need to hear the entire list of ways he had ghosted Sam, “I got them."

"I'm not asking for you to be nice or anything, I just want you to talk to me.” Sam’s tone lowered to a much more serious and confident one, “Please."

Noticing the sudden switch of approach, Bucky felt he at least owed him a chance to speak his truth. Even if all Sam had to say were excuses. So he gestured to the exit with a tilt of his head, implying for Sam to follow him. As soon as they both stood on the side of the stairs, and away from everyone else, Bucky slid his hands inside his pocket, preparing for the speech he feared he would dread.

"You can talk." He gave Sam the room to express whatever he had to express, this time with a smaller voice.

It broke a little piece inside Sam’s chest to see Bucky like that. Not just upset, but sad. He almost didn’t want to do this, because Bucky looked like he was preparing to have a bomb dropped on him. Yet he desperately needed to apologize and he desperately needed to try one more time, therefore he stood up straight, head up high, and let it all out.

"I messed up.” The words were expulsed with heaviness, making Bucky glance up at him, “Big time. I really, really like you, and...” He shrugged, failing to keep the continuous confidence, while Bucky fought back a frown that threatened to take over his features, “I don't know, it felt like we were on the same page, right?"

"But we weren't. That's why you left.” Bucky interrupted, “Still, you could've been less of a dick about it.”

"I agree."

"Which part?"

"Last part.” Sam jumped to make that point come across clearly; he definitely cared for Bucky just as much as Bucky cared for him, if not more, “Definitely last part, I- I was a dick. But I didn't mean to, and it didn't mean what you think it meant."

Finally convinced, Bucky didn’t use the gap of silence Sam offered him. He didn’t say a word, meaning he was willing to listen, which gave both of them a spark of hope. Sam seized the opportunity to spill everything out before they had to go back inside.

"You were the best thing that could've happened when I came back. You still are, Bucky. And this is probably the worst time to be doing this, but can we please meet up after the memorial? We can talk things through, you can... curse me out if you wanna. I just need the proper time to apologize. Because I really am incredibly sorry."

-

As the service approached its start and everyone found their seats, Darlene stopped Steve and his mother Sarah from sitting behind her.

“Oh, darling, come sit here with us.” She told the Rogers, speaking directly to her friend Sarah.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked.

“Yes, yes.” Darlene gestured quickly, then addressed the man that seemed to spare, “James, you too. Sammy should have his friends with him.”

As much as Bucky eyes Sam in search for an exit, for Sam to find an excuse, none of them seemed to have much of a choice. The three guests joined the grieving family on the front row, Sam remaining on the last end, sticking with his mother.

Not minutes after the priest started speaking, Darlene was a crying mess. Sam remembered what his old-fashioned father said about handkerchiefs and regretted not carrying one for his mother, but she had prepared for this day by bringing a box of tissues in her oversized purse, so Sam merely squeezed her hand for support. The problem was, when the priest announced they would be reading Paul’s favorite poems, and the first one just so happened to be about the relationship between a father and a son. Two verses later, Sam felt it coming. Something snapped inside of him, perhaps the fact that everyone in that church was thinking of Sam and Paul’s bond, or maybe all the crying he hadn’t done in a month hit him like a wave, but the result was simple; Sam couldn’t fight the sentiment.

The tears claimed him and he let it happen, wet face and snotty nose and all. He stopped listening to the poem and instead remembered how Paul always told him _it was okay to cry_ , which brought Sam the much needed peace he required in that moment, because he figures the entire church was quietly pitying him. He could feel a hundred eyes burning the back of his head as he shut his eyes and a grimace invaded his features.

All of a sudden, the funniest thought crossed his mind and a smirk overtook him. _Paul always told him it was okay to cry_. Soon enough, that smirk became a concealed chuckle, which quickly escalated into a full-on laugh. Sam thought he might sound insane to the rest of the attendants, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the irony of it all. Eventually, Darlene inclined to check up on her seemingly crazy son.

"Sorry, it’s just… Dad always said I should express my feelings more.” Sam whispered, trying to keep the laugh in but failing, “He'd do anything to get me to open up and... show emotion.” The last few words caused a wave of chuckles to erupt on his chest, getting even more attention from everyone else, “If you told him I would do it in his church for his _memorial_ , in front of his _entire_ congregation...”

When Sam looked up, he saw his mother cracking up along with him, tears of joy mixing with the former tears of sadness, and with a sense of calm, Sam shook his head amusingly.

"He'd curse me out.”

Darlene sniffed before speaking with regained composure, “Paul never cursed in front of you.”

That made Sam lose it. He didn’t even know if he was snorting or laughing by now.

“ _I know_ , he said- he said he was saving it for a _special time_.”

As the sentence gained a similar reaction from Steve, Sarah and Bucky, mother and son noticed the entire first row could hear them perfectly. Sam’s eyes naturally travelled to find Bucky, who flaunted a big smile. Bucky always knew it would be Sam to hold the proud title of the perpetrator of a rare funeral chuckle. He never lost hope.

-

Sam was opening his car door, out in the parking lot behind the church, when Bucky came out of nowhere. Sam’s muscles tensed as he knew for a fact he was only there to talk, while Bucky looked around to make sure they didn’t have any public. He didn’t give Sam any time to prepare before he started rambling.

"I shouldn't have ignored you.” He spat out, more sure of himself than Sam had seen him in a while, “I should've listened, and I'm sorry.”

A sigh left Sam’s chest. He didn’t think it was Bucky who should be apologizing, but that only meant the latter had already forgiven him. Still, he felt the guilty need to step in while he leaned back on the carhood.

“Bucky, I-“

“I don’t care.” Barnes stepped closer, “As long as you forgive me too, I’m good.”

The instant Bucky finished his micro speech, he sprinted to grab Sam’s face and press his lips against him. It pushed Sam’s body slightly so that they were both pressing against the car, and although Sam was fairly shocked, he gave into the kiss completely, at the last seconds. When Bucky stepped back, waiting to see Sam’s reaction, tentatively, he was met with flushed cheeks and embarrassment.

Sam looked around, which made Bucky realize that he _was_ expecting people, and therefore, right now they _did_ have a public. Darlene, Steve and his mother were standing there with triumphant grins and smirks. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, quickly losing his previous confidence.

"Shit." He let out with a nervous laugh.

Sam laughed back.

“It’s okay, they’re _nosy people_ , you’re giving them a show.” He directed the insult to the three spectators.

“Do you guys need a minute?” Steve stepped in.

Sam nodded, “Yes, a minute would be nice.”

-

Sam was finishing writing in his journal, when the doorbell rang.

Bucky had suggested the idea of a journal, for Sam to write down his feelings of grief, and it definitely was helping with the young man’s epiphanies. Today’s page began with a mention of how easy it had been to adapt to his hometown the past few weeks. Sam wrote about his mother, and how she didn’t let her grief take her down, but actually played the widow part like a champ. He also wrote about Bucky, and how patient he was with Sam’s feelings, and how he himself was ready to hold Bucky’s hand in public. The page ended in a meaningful paragraph:

_I haven’t felt like I deserved to mourn him, because I kept focusing about everything I didn’t get to do with him. I wish I’d had the courage, because Paul Wilson always taught me to be brave, and I just feel like I let him down. But then mama, the person who knew him better than he knew himself, reminded me of something: he was the single most empathic person in the world, and he never judged a person who came to him. He would have welcomed me with any problem or confession, and that’s what I want to remember. His memory, to me, is one of a kind man who was always there for me, even if I didn’t seek his help._

“Sammy, the Barnes boy’s here for you!” Darlene called up.

Sam walked down the stairs and rolled his eyes when he was sure his mother could see him.

“We’re not fifteen, mama.” He mocked her choice of words.

Bucky, on his part, was standing on the doorstep with a frown, “Was I supposed to bring flowers?”

“Only if you wanna stay for dinner.” Sam warned him while putting on a coat.

“I do want to stay for dinner.” Bucky said just to mess with Sam, but gave Darlene a look that meant he was serious, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Anytime, love.” She gave him a graceful nod.

“We’re leaving.” Sam groaned before shutting the door behind him.

Bucky gave him a peck on his temple before they started walking down the street. It would be a short walk to the coffee shop, but it gave Sam enough time to hold Bucky’s hand. With some real courage and gathered enthusiasm, Sam found Bucky’s gloved hand. He sloppily reached for his fingers, and received some help from Bucky, who looked down with a smile when their hands were completely intertwined.

They fell into comfortable silence, until Sam remembered a topic of conversation they had left behind.

“What did Wanda say about the charity work?” he asked like he’d forgotten something important, “Is she in?”

Bucky’s roommate had agreed to help the Wilsons with some church work Sam had taken over, including donation events and organization. The young woman had already made a bunch of jokes about not being able to step foot in a Christian church.

“Yeah, she said she could betray her Jewish ancestors for a few days.” Bucky replied, raising his eyebrows at the memory of her dramatization, “Said if I’d done it, so could she.”

“Yeah, but you went there to score a real handsome guy.” Sam joked.

Bucky smiled and stopped in order to find Sam’s face and cup it, “And what’s could be more _godly_ than that?”

The couple joined in a kiss, there in the middle of the street, and although it wasn’t a very populated one, it proved their willingness to step into the spotlight. They didn’t want to be a secret anymore. When they broke the kiss, Sam gave Bucky’s hand a little squeeze, and they continued walking.

“I’m happy, Bucky.” Sam confessed out of the blue.

It brought a confused smile to Bucky’s face, “Well, I’m glad.” He said, unsure.

“No, I mean I’m happy _here_. I’m not going back to DC.” He announced with such tranquility, it made Bucky’s gut do a full twist, “That job you mentioned downtown? I’m taking it.”

Bucky’s heart warmed to the idea, because he would have followed Sam to DC if he had asked him, but instead, Sam decided to _stay_ , and there was something very beautiful about that choice.

“You’re gonna have to stay with your mom.” Bucky reminded him of the downside, like he wasn’t as thrilled as anyone could ever be.

“Yeah, for a while.” Sam shrugged, “She’s partly the reason I want to stay, you know.”

Bucky nodded, keeping a big happy grin concealed, “What’s the other reason?”

“Just this _guy_.” He followed along.

“Really, what’s he like?”

“Kinda cute. He betrayed his ancestors for me a bunch of times.”

“Shut up.” Bucky rolled his eyes as he reached for Sam’s sweater and pulled him in for a kiss.

For a long time, Sam had avoided his hometown. He had avoided the people from his childhood, he had avoided his relationship with his parents, and so much more that now seemed indispensable. Not only had he found Bucky, but he felt like he was finally where he belonged. He felt like Bucky was the only person who knew him entirely growing up, and somehow, they both needed each other to be reminded of themselves.

Holding Bucky’s hand, walking down his childhood street where they both would sneak through at night during their teenage years, he felt home. And he planned on keeping that feeling for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Important: This is an AU. In no way, shape or form would I want to erase the original background story given to Sam Wilson in the comics; he grew up in a Harlem neighborhood that was filled with poverty and violence. His father (Minister Paul Wilson) was killed while trying to stop a gang fight in order to defend young boys. I feel like it is an incredibly important aspect of the character, especially considering the narrative given to the Falcon and in ‘All New Captain America’. However, this fanfic doesn’t follow the comics’ chronology nor the superhero aspects of Marvel, and instead retrieves part of the character’s stories and personalities. It is simply a romantic AU, and I set it in a small town that is rather suburban because it fit the plot better. Always respect Sam Wilson’s story xx


End file.
